Yes, My Lord
by CheshireGrinn
Summary: As they enter Redcliffe, Alistair has something very important to tell Sirona. It seems he's a not only a bastard, but a royal one, too. F!COUSLAND/ALISTAIR; SPOILERS


**AN-And again! This one's short, though, with one of the best scenes in my opinion. A lot of this is straight from the game, with a little cushioning of my own mind here and there. And, by the way, Sirona Cousland if (obviously) by Warden, and a Human Noble. Auf, is her Mabari...who's name came from a book that had to do with werewolves. I'm so creative!  
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**Enjoy, and reviews are love! :D  
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**.:Yes, My Lord:.**

"Oh, what a _charming_ little village," Morrigan said drily, anything but charmed. "So large…and built into the mountainside…"

Sirona shook her head, smiling, as Auf trotted along and darted into the village, Morrigan following with a look of immense distaste. The female Warden was beginning to wonder if _anything_ made the Witch of the Wilds remotely happy.

"Sirona, would you hold on a moment…?"

The Warden turned, looking at Alistair with wide, mostly-blue-today eyes. He hated when she did that. It was a look of innocence that was absent her face any other time, because for as good as Sirona was, she was _not_ above causing a little good-natured havoc in order to have some fun, and she'd also seen many things that would steal innocence. It was also a look of complete devotion of attention, which he was not used, by much of anyone, and _especially_ not a beautiful woman. He swallowed thickly, forging on.

"There's something I probably should have told you, earlier…" Alistair began unsurely, and sensing the seriousness of the situation, Sirona took a step closer, "What's on your mind?"

He was very nervous, and she placed a hand on his arm, both to comfort him and urge him on. He nodded, "I told you earlier, about how Arl Eamon raised me, right? How my mother was a serving girl at the castle, and he took me in? The reason he did that was…because…" She leaned forward just a bit, trying to egg him on, but he has very nearly completely clammed up. She watched him take a deep breath, deep enough to puff his chest out comically, before rushing to finish the statement, "Because my father…was King Maric. Which made Cailin my…half-brother, I suppose."

She blinked, wide and surprise, before schooling her expression when she noted his discomfort. She fought not to laugh, "So, you're not only a bastard, but a _royal_ bastard?"

He looked on in confusion, before laughing quickly, almost as if startled, "Yes, I suppose it does. I should use that line more often!"

He sighed, smiling self-depreciatively, "I _would_ have told you, but…it never really meant anything to me." He looked down, his tone hurt, jaded, "I was an _inconvenience, _a possible _threat_ to Cailin's rule, so they kept me secret. I've never talked to anyone about it." He huffed, annoyed with his one lineage, his own past, "Everyone that knew either _resented_ me for it, or _coddled_ me. Even _Duncan_ kept me out of the fighting because of it. I didn't want you to know, as long as possible." And then, with a puppy-dog look that would make even a baby Mabari cry, he sighed heavily, preparing himself for the blow, "I'm sorry."

Sirona smiled, biting the inside of her cheek to stop from grinning, and she nodded, "I understand."

On very few occasions had she ever seen someone look so very relieved, and Alistair's shoulders even slumped, as if finally relaxed from the weight upon them.

"Oh, _good_," He breathed, almost grinning himself. "I'm glad. It's not as if I got special treatment for it, anyhow." He gave her a smile, and then began to ramble, "At any rate, that's it. That's what I had to tell you. I thought you should know about it."

With a mischievous smile, she quirked a brow, "Anything else?"

He matched her expression, his voice decidedly flirty, and that set butterflies to fluttering in her stomach, "Beside my unholy love of fine cheeses, and a minor obsession with my hair, no, that's it." Then, in a conspiratorial whisper, he added, "Just the prince thing."

Oh, she had questions. She had dozens and buckets and barrels of questions, but she'd save those for another time. There were other things to do. He rocked back and forth on his heels, and she smothered an internal squeak at how very cute the tall man could be, and he smiled, back to his usual self, "So, there you have it. Now, can we move on? And I'll just pretend you still think I'm some nobody that was too lucky to die with the rest of the Grey Wardens."

She wanted to reprimand him for that; in truth, even having not met many other Wardens or candidates, she couldn't think of anyone else she'd rather be stuck with. She truly liked Alistair.

That's why she bowed formally, "As you wish…_my prince_."

He chuckled, "Oh, I am going to regret this, aren't I…?"

She stood, walking with a new pep in her step, "Most likely, _my liege_."

"Oh, quit that, would you!" He protested through a laugh, and she began walking backwards, tiny ponytail bopping as much as it could, her pretty face split in a grin, "Yes, _my Lord_!"

"Oh, by the _Maker_," He sighed, still smiling, a palm to his face, until they heard Morrigan screech, "You _dreadful beast_! _Do not go running through the village with those_!"

Sirona slapped a hand over her mouth, then shrugged, "Well…she did tell him not to leave, 'putrid, half-eaten rabbits' in her unmentionables. She never said anything about carrying said unmentionables through the town square."

Alistair laughed, long and loud, and Sirona joined in, even as she raced after her beloved Mabari.

She was comforted to know that Alistair wasn't far behind.


End file.
